“Don’t stay here all night,” Celebrimbor warned, his tone heavy and serious as he wiped the grim from today’s work off of his hands with a rough rag. “I don’t want to find you here at sun up when I return. Again.” He punctuated the statement with a hefty amount of sardonicism while Anarien looked up from her work and grinned at the Elf lord, giving him a “Yes, yes you won’t,” as a typical response of an Elf who had long since entered their later teenaged years.
“I mean it Anarien,” his voice left no room for arguments of any sort, “You’re not an adult just yet.”
Despite his manner of speaking, Anarien rolled her eyes, mimicking him when he would hear something that was no only of no interest to him, but when he found that the subject was annoying to him as well.
“Fine, fine,” Anarien giggled when his scowl deepened, and she pulled the blade she had been waiting on from the forge and quickly quenching it in the oil she had previously prepared for it while Celebrimbor began walking away sighing and mumbling more reminders. All of his empty threats she, of course, ignored and when she heard the heavy wooden door upstairs close with a loud thud, she knew that Celebrimbor had indeed left, and she heaved a sigh as there was still so much more work for her to do. All of it should have been done earlier in the week, but Anarien’s thoughts had left her more than distracted throughout. She had already been embarrassed about it, and when Celebrimbor had noticed how it was affecting her work and began to pry for more information, Anarien felt like she would die from humiliation especially considering the shameless thoughts that she had been entertaining.
Her deflections towards Celebrimbor’s questions led him to query her further, and between the way she avoided his questions through words and reactions and Celebrimbor’s old age and life experiences, the Elf lord had come to the conclusion that Anarien had her eyes on someone in Ost-in-Edhil.
The worst part wasn’t even that he was right, rather it was the fact that she couldn’t keep herself from cringing and was unable to stop her face from flushing, thus confirming his suspicions. After which he had become increasingly more protective than he would have normally been, especially when it came to her being out and about alone at night.
It was, however, within his character to behave in such a way and so it came as no surprise to Anarien. Celebrimbor had always been a sort of adoptive father to her, and now that she had all the time in the world to spend with him in the forges, it made sense that he would care more. Or rather she would see how he went about caring more often. But this posed the problem now that Celebrimbor was trying to find out who the ‘lucky’ one was, and Anarien was certain he would sooner crush their face under a hammer. Whether it was a physical hammer, or one wrought of sarcasm was completely dependant upon how upset the Elf lord would be when he found out who the person in question was. Anarien decided that it would be the physical hammer because Celebrimbor would be distraught and perturbed as she removed the blade from the oil and began checking the metal for any bends or cracks. Pleased to find that there were none after a thorough look up and down. Anarien set the blade on one of the various workbenches strewn throughout Mirdaithrond, choosing the one that was closest the now cool anvil that she had previously been working on and then reaching for one of the larger files that was placed upon a wooden shelf that was propped up against the stone walls above the wooden table and preparing to grind the scale that accumulated on the metal by hand.
Normally, this was her least favourite step in the process as it meant that she would be repeating the same motions for hours at a time and nothing more. But for now, Anarien found that she didn’t mind the monotony of it, as it allowed for her to get some work done as well as think about what had been bothering her and trying to find a solution without being entirely distracted. Anarien passed the hours by grinding the blade and pondering her own thoughts. She had been attempting to find a reason that would convince herself that these ideas were completely immoral and should be forsaken rather than being indulged in the late hours of the night.
These exact thoughts that she had been trying to suppress had now endeavoured into her mind, making her face flush and the same return while she imagined naked flesh writhe against one another. Large hands tangled in soft hair, pulling and demanding access to what he desired most.
A shooting pain seared through her hand, nearer to her thumb, having caught herself on a piece of sharp scale that stood up while she was working. Cursing at herself for being so lost in her own imagination, Anarien moved towards the silver bowl and pitcher that stood on another wooden table containing clean water for Gwaith-i-Mírdain kept around for washing their hands and cleaning injuries such as these. She lifted the pitcher with the hand that was unhurt and poured the cold water atop of the opposite over the bowl. Watching as the blood swirled within before assessing the damage. She hadn’t sliced herself too far, but it was a bit deep and it would scar for many years before healing entirely; long after it distracted her from her work of course.
“Somehow, I knew I would find you here,” said the familiar voice belonging to who Anarien had been fantasising about moments before and her blood ran cold.
“Are you alright?” he asked, noticing that Anarien was favouring one of her hands. But she couldn’t look at him in the eyes after having entertained such tasteless thoughts about him and only nodded. Talion then noticed the deep cut running between her thumb and first finger on her right hand, taking it into his own to inspect it himself in the low light.
“Its fine,” stuttered Anarien while she reached for the clean linens that she intended to wrap her hand with, trying to pull her hand away from his in the process, but he wouldn’t allow it. Talion knew it would be difficult, if not next to impossible, for her to wrap it appropriately by herself and so he took the roll from her once she retrieved it; motioning for her to take a seat on one of the stools near the workbench and bending down on one knee and began covering the wound in the clean fabric.
Anarien watched him as he took care of the injury, but still didn’t dare to meet his eyes. Instead she focused on the hand being wrapped as well as the one that was resting upon her thigh, being critical of them. Not at all like an Elf maiden’s, her hands were heavily calloused, full of cuts and burns. The hands of a blacksmith were hardly smooth, and the word elegant would never be used to describe them. Anarien hissed softly when Talion pulled on the linen roughly as he tied it off, making sure that it wouldn’t come undone. She muttered her thanks as he pulled his hands away, and the mourned the loss of the warmth while wondering how those hands would feel elsewhere.
“Looks like you still have a lot to do,” Talion inspected the blade she had been working on, taking note of the piece of scale that had blood on it and assumed that was where Anarien had cut herself. She shook her head trying to get rid of the thoughts while he picked up the file she had been using and resumed where she had been working. Although he knew he was not nearly as skilled as either Anarien or Celebrimbor, Talion was certain that he could remove the build up without either one of them criticising his work. Anarien watched him carefully as he worked, gazing intently at the way his muscles worked underneath the thin fabric of the tunic he wore. She told herself she had to stop thinking this way, but she couldn’t refrain. Her clothes began to feel uncomfortably hot and she kept lying to herself and saying it was from the heat of the forge as several minutes passed with her watching him. Talion put the file down and picked up the blade, inspecting the work she had done alongside his own before saying that it would be a fine weapon when she finished. Anarien thanked him again quietly as he set the weapon back down on the work bench. Talion looked over at her and noticed that she really was just as distracted as Celebrimbor had mentioned. Thinking of the Elf lord, however, reminding Talion on why he had come here in the first place, and he advised that they should both start heading home, unless they wanted to get an earful from the Elf lord.
“Why would he scold you?” Anarien asked with a slight giggle but was completely perplexed as she shook her head at just how far Celebrimbor was taking the father figure role.
“That I live under the same rood as you. And that I should be more aware of your coming and going since I, too, am responsible for you,” Talion’s tone was mocking, though it was not unkind and contained no malice. “I told him that you were old enough.”
“And yet here you are.”
Talion chuckled heartily at the quip from Anarien, but when a smirk that could only be described as wicked curled at his lips, Anarien felt a strange feeling in her gut.
“Well. That’s because word has reached me that someone has caught your attention.”
Anarien bit her lip and turned away from Talion when she felt her face colour again, desperately trying to find something to work on so that she could appear busy with it to avoid looking at him.
“I don’t need another man making threats with a sword over something that will never be,” Anarien grumbled as she wanted nothing more than to escape the continuous prying and the awkward situation that she felt she was trapped in.
“I’m not about to make threats,” Talion stated with some humour, but he watched her movements and just how guarded she was over the topic which he decided to approach with more caution than he had previously. “Why do you think nothing will come of it?” Talion left the question hanging in the air, allowing her the option of answering if she so chose.
“I fear Celebrimbor would be disgusted,” she admitted, knowing full well that the Elf lord would at the very least, would be quite disappointed in her.
“Disgusting is a rather strong word. Celebrimbor has some biting words to be sure, but he’d never say something so hurtful let along feel that way concerning you.” Anarien folded her arms across her chest and began to shift from side to side nervously as she debated on whether or not it was wise to even be speaking about this matter.
“He would,” she persisted, “He would say that what I feel is queer and wholly unnatural. He’d attempt to talk me out of it; as if I hadn’t already made such efforts myself. Then be further disappointed at the realisation that he couldn’t change my mind.” Anarien’s voice faltered and she quickly dared to look at the questioning look that was plastered all over Talion’s face.
“All of this,” she continued, “On top of knowing the person in question would be disturbed as well by my wants has left me in a rather foul state of mind.”
Talion paused and allowed for her to continue and elaborate if she wanted, but when Anarien remained silent he decided it was his turn to speak. “You’re not disgusting, first and foremost,” Anarien could hear the change in his voice, taking on the comforting and even tone he used when she was upset and seeking comfort from him.
“Feelings are strange this, but something we all share. So please keep that in mind. But I don’t know what I am supposed to say beyond that for you’re making no sense,” he stepped towards her and the workbench she was sitting on and took a seat beside her.
“Why do you think Celebrimbor would be so upset over this person? Has he done something to anger him?”
Anarien bit her lip and remained quiet as she mulled over whether or not she would answer, and how she would if she did. Talion allowed her some time but was beginning to wonder if she had decided to end the conversation here and now. But it surprised him when she finally turned to look at him, meeting his eyes for the first time that night. He saw a lingering sadness in her eyes, along side confusion and a determination he knew all too well. It was as if Anarien wanted to tell him what had been on her mind but was afraid of how he would respond.
“You know you can tell me anything. My image of you will never change. And if you so will it, I will say nothing to Celebrimbor,” Talion made an effort to comfort her, moving a piece of long black hair out of her face that had fallen from the confines of the knot that held her hair back.
“Celebrimbor feels threatened by him,” Anarien answered after a long while and Talion took a moment to think about everyone and anyone who could have possibly angered the Elf lord recently. But he found that he was unable to do so and Anarien sighed in pure exasperation when he raised his eyebrows at her in a perplexing manner. Talion could tell there was something she felt he should have understood and was getting annoyed at the fact that he was incapable of putting two and two together. He knew how much it bothered her when she had to spell something out for him and when she groaned his name while pinching the thin but long bridge of her nose he knew there was something she decided he had missed.
“He feels that his place in my heart will be stolen.”
“Well,” Talion started by scratching at his beard on his chin while he pondered the words, thinking he understood where she was coming from finally, “I think it is common for men to feel that way about their daughters when they are no longer the only man in their lives.”
Anarien sighed loudly again, and Talion frowned at the fact he had apparently missed the point again. She debated on outright telling him since he could be so dense at times, and really Talion would have preferred if she had gone this route more often. “Of such manners I know and understand,” Anarien took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart, “He feels the person in question is going to take his place in my heart as a father.”
Anarien watched as his expression changed from confusion to realisation and then back to confusion. She regretted what she had said for the moment and looking back down at the floor. Expecting painful and hurtful words of repulsion to come her way as he came to understand she had been desiring him. She saw him point a finger towards himself and how his eyebrows were perched up high while seeking confirmation, and Anarien nodded slowly and solemnly.
Talion cleared his throat, saying the words, “That’s interesting,” and despite how he tried to sound amused by the discovery, Anarien could hear the way his voice shook with uncertainty. Indeed, her words had shaken him to the core, as he had never expected such strong feelings other than familial to come from the little Elf girl that he had met all those years ago by the river. The title of father had always belonged to Celebrimbor, and while he wasn’t excluded from their little family, he had always thought of himself as a sort of step father to her, as she often when to him when there were things bothering her that she felt she couldn’t tell Celebrimbor or her mother when she felt she would receive nothing but harsh criticism from them. Though he wondered how he was going to get himself out of this one. When his mind drew a blank, he muttered to himself, “I don’t know what to do about this,” under his breath, and the words weren’t intended to be heard by Anarien, but she had.
They weren’t related by blood, but he had known her since she was a small child. He didn’t call her disgusting, rather he thought himself repulsive for every excuse he made for her, he felt he was making for himself as well even though he knew it wasn’t for his own benefit. Talion remained silent, didn’t encourage her, but neither did he push her or her feelings aside. Talion heard her take another deep breath to clam herself, and Anarien shifts a little so that she is marginally closer to him.
“I can think of a few things,” she decided that it was now or never. Anarien never planned to be in this exact situation, but maybe with some quick thinking, ‘Maybe, just maybe,’ she thought as she leaned in close to him. Pressing her uninjured hand against the side of his face, turning his head gently so that he was now facing her as she placed her other hand against his chest and closing the distance between them. Feeling his heart racing, not unlike her own, beneath her fingers and purposely ignoring the almost fearful look on his face. She could feel his breath against her lips as he spoke her name in a hesitant, questioning tone. She chose to ignore it, instead wondering how he would taste and how his beard would feel against her skin.
“Anarien!” he called, grasping at her wrist that had been pressed against his chest roughly and she looked up at him in horror as her heart fell to the pit of her stomach.
“Have you gone mad?” he asked quietly, almost as it he was doubting himself as well.
It gave Anarien the tiniest amount of hope when she heard how his voice failed him, “Perhaps,” she began, “But I don’t see you making much of an effort to stop me either,” Anarien removed her hand from his grasp as it had weakened considerably and she brought it to the opposite side of the one already on his face. With nervous determination, Anarien crashed her lips against Talion’s. Savouring the earthy taste about him and the soft feel of his lips. Softer than what she would have ever expected from him as Talion made a feeble attempt to break their contact by moving his hands to her shoulders to push her off. But instead he found himself running rough fingers down the length of her strong arms and resting his hands tentatively on her slender hips and feeling the slight curve that led to her thin, but sturdy waist. Anarien ran her fingers through Talion’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp with her blunt nails as she murmured against his lips.
“It’s been at least seventy years, right?”
Talion’s surrender seemed almost too easy, and while Anarien was not about to complain, she assumed it was largely because it had been some time since he had felt the pleasure of the flesh.
“About a hundred and thirty years,” he answered, adding the time he had spent in Mordor on top of his time in Ost-in-Edhil. His skin began to feel the familiar heat of lust as Anarien wrapped a leg around him, allowing herself to be seated in his lap as he moved only enough to accommodate her. Talion looked into her pale blue eyes when she broke the kiss to breathe, and he panted softly, “We shouldn’t do this,” his voice sounded unconvinced even to his own ears. Everything should have felt wrong, but he found that he wanted to take this further and to find out what sort of things Anarien had been imagining about him. If he could live up to her expectations in this regard since he couldn’t seem to take Celebrimbor’s place.
“I won’t say anything if you don’t,” Anarien pressed her lips to his again, ruining any and all ideas Talion had previously about escaping.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he chided, and he groaned in surprise when she bit his bottom lip to silence him.
“Then call it a special interest that we share,” Anarien whimpered as she imagined all the things he could possibly do to her now that she had him. She removed her hands from his hair and running them down his shoulders and chest and making him shiver as she stopped at where the hem of the tunic sat. Admiring the soft, clean feel of the Elvish fabric before hesitantly sliding her fingers underneath and stroking the muscular flesh carefully. But despite her best efforts, she was unable to commit herself to pulling off the article of clothing, becoming incredibly shy in that moment.
Talion noticed her uncertainty and decided he needed to take the lead. They didn’t have much time before sun rise, and she had already taken things too far for either of them to stop, and he felt they couldn’t afford to wait for her nerves to come back. He broke the kiss and latched onto her neck. Kissing, licking and nipping the skin up towards her ear eagerly and making her squirm in his lap and clutching at his shoulders to stabilise herself. Talion bit at the lobe of her sensitive ear, smirking at the way she hissed and whined as he slides his lips against its length and nibbling at the pointed tip. After years of her ears being pulled for being in trouble, neither Talion nor Anarien ever imagined that she would be so receptive to this kind of attention, and it amused Talion as he repeated to action with more aggression. Tangling his fingers in her silky black hair and pulling lightly so that he could have better access.
“Special interests indeed,” he whispered the words in her ear to tease her and she whimpered at the sensation of his hot breath against the dampness on her ear. Anarien felt his hands move from her waist to the small of her back, never letting up on the assault of her ear however, as he untied the tight knot that kept her leather apron on. Feeling him tug on the rough material and removing it from her body before tossing it unceremoniously to the ground with a light thud. Talion finally ceased his relentless onslaught on her ear, running his fingers underneath the hem of her dirty tunic, covered in coal, oil and various other filths that were commonly found in the forge, and he mimicked the action she had earlier. But he intended to go through with it, continuing where she had become to shy. Dragging his knuckles along her smooth skin as he pulled the tunic over her head. He had expected Anarien to try and cover herself in modesty, but she made no such effort and just placed her hands back on his broad shoulders while the tunic was thrown to the ground as well.
Talion admired the pale, unblemished skin revealed to him, bringing his hands up to cup the smooth and shapely breasts now in front of him. Pinching and the coral nipples and delighting in the way her back arched and her voice hitched and how Anarien’s grip on his shoulders became almost vice like when Talion lowered his head and replaced one of his hands with his mouth. Swirling and flicking the nub, nipping at it soon after softly until he was satisfied with the result before moving on to the other. Talion dragged sloppy kisses back up her throat and to her lips again as Anarien seemed to either find her courage or lost herself in lust. Breaking the contact only when she felt she needed to remove the tunic she had failed to earlier, desiring to feel her skin against his as she slipped it over his head and added to the ever-growing pile on the floor.
“You didn’t tell me you had hair elsewhere,” she murmured as she followed the speckled line of hair with her fingers down from his chest to the top of his leggings, making Talion smirk when a wicked thought came to mind, and made him curious to prove soon.
“And I suppose Elves remain bear?” he hugged, but his voice was amused as he brought his mouth back down to her chest, pulling on the abused nipple between his teeth and letting it snap back.
“I like it,” she said breathlessly and as she squirmed against him she ground herself against Talion unconsciously, allowing her to feel how had he was underneath the confines of his clothes as his own hips rose to meet heat movement and making them both moan in want.
Talion then stood up, forcing Anarien to wrap her legs around him as not to fall. Moving them forward until he sat her down on the cool metal of the anvil. Kissing her roughly, nipping at her lips and wrestling her tongue with his own and enjoying the responsive way she ran her fingers down his scarred flesh. Tracing some with a single finger, or in the case of the one nearer to his neck and shoulders, she ran her tongue along the line and adored the salty flavour of him. Her moans and whimpers sent jolts straight to his groin, and all he was able to think about at this moment, was wanted more. Especially when he found himself wondering if the Elves were as bare as he had predicted.
Talion ran his left hand down the length of her body, starting at her throat, between her breasts until at last it was between her legs; stroking at her core, causing her to whimper and moan almost uncontrollably as a heat began to pool in the pit of her stomach. Anarien started spluttering words both in the common tongue and in Sindarin as her nails were surely leaving bloody crescent marks in his shoulders and back as her cries grew louder and louder. Talion knew she would be undone soon, and he could feel the wetness seeping through the material and he hurriedly began to undo the laces on her pants and lifting her full backside just enough so that he could pull them out from under her and over her pale white legs.
Talion could feel his control starting to falter, but he held back. He’d see her to completion before being concerned with his own needs. Kneeling down in a similar fashion to how he had when he bandaged her hand, Talion opened her legs wider, exposing her to him. He felt her resist a bit to close them, but he wouldn’t allow it, placing his head between, amused by the fact that his suspicions were true as he took a long, experimental lick of her nether regions and tearing a long and throaty moan from her throat. Her muttering had become unintelligible as he flicked the little pink nub with his tongue before plunging the muscle into her heat. Her thighs were quivering uncontrollably as he slipped one thick finger inside of her and she whimpered. It sounded almost of discomfort but was heavily distorted from lust.
Talion proceeded with the same slow pace but found after adding a second finger and curling them, he could very much pick of the pace. A movement which appeared to pay off, as she keened and convulsed almost suddenly after shifting her hips in an attempt to push his fingers deeper. He felt her clench around the digits as he lapped at her release and savouring the sweet taste as she came down from her high. Talion stood up quickly, repositioning her so that her chest was pressed against the anvil and her sex was presented to him in a stunning display. He fumbled with his own laces and pulled the leggings off hurriedly and carelessly.
It absolutely thrilled him how Anarien was looking over her shoulder and staring between his legs with a nervous anticipation. Talion leaned over her, tangling his fingers in her hair and kissing her roughly again then trailing love bites along her shoulder as he took himself into his hands and positioned himself at her entrance. Murmuring a quick apology as he sank into the tight heat. He had expected Anarien to whine in discomfort at the intrusion, but she seemed only mildly uncomfortable.
“Levo,” she pleaded, and Talion began slowly thrusting into her, building up to a steady rhythm. Running his hand up the curve of her back as she arched into his touch, her head lolling to the side while she hummed in pleasure. Moaning his name quietly, though he swore she had said something else as his hands glided all over her soft body, at which point she was biting her lip in a poor attempt to keep quiet. Talion leaned forward, a wicked idea in mind as he tangled his fingers back in her hair, pulling her head back just enough that he could breathe nearer to her ear, “Mae ad limp mi gin,” he all but groaned lewdly into her ear and she cried out what he had thought she had before whispering the filthy statement in Sindarin.
“Ada! Puitho nin!” she all but screamed, and he lost control at the purely dirty way in which she had called him ‘dad’ in her own tongue. He sped up drastically, lacking any sort of pattern to his thrusts now and he reached his hand forward to cover Anarien’s mouth as she came for the second time, high-pitched and loud moans still pierced his ears as he pulled out from her, jerking himself to completion and spilling over her rear and lower back. Talion leaned over her, feeling rather boneless, but realising that they had to leave soon. The sun would be up shortly, and there would be a particular Elf lord on his way.
They dressed for the most part in silence, “Where did you learn to say that?” Anarien asked, unable to contain herself. She’d been teaching him Sindarin for a while now, but he hardly ever spoke it around her or the other Elves.
Talion smirked with a chuckle, “You taught me all the bad words first, remember? I figured it out from there.”
“Ah,” was all she had to say to that, as they headed up the stairs. Anarien peeped out the door quickly to make sure there was no one coming, as it was clear from their dishevelled appearances what had happened in the forge.
“No one saw,” she breathed with a sigh of relief.
“But did they hear?”
Anarien turned to Talion and gave him a hard look. “I’ve got one more for you,” his grin was like the same evil one from earlier, “Istog I iallog ne phuith?”
Celebrimbor shot up from his bed in a cold sweat, panting heavily and feeling dehydrated. It was, just a dream. Thanking all the Valar for that fact, he thought as his head fell between his hands.